


Tom and the Beauxbatons

by EnlightenedSt8sman



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beauxbatons, English, Français | French, Gen, Hufflepuff, Ilvermorny, Original Character(s), Ravenclaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlightenedSt8sman/pseuds/EnlightenedSt8sman
Summary: When Marcelle Aubry hears news that Beauxbatons Academy of Magic is participating in an exchange program all over the world, she cannot contain her excitement. With the help of her best friend Yvette Tellgente, her wishes to go Hogwarts are granted. While Yvette hopes to keep Marcelle out of trouble, Aubry has quickly gets sidetracked. With just a few months to fulfill her biggest dreams, Marcelle has more on her plate than she ever realized.Disclaimer: Most of the story is in English, but there is a considerable amount of dialogue in French. I have provided translations in the endnotes.





	1. Chapitre 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcelle Aubry and Yvette Tellegente learn of an exchange program. Marcelle tries to go to Hogwarts.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”1 Yvette wondered. Whatever it was, Marcelle was entranced. Since the mail had arrived, Marcelle hadn’t said a word, and her expression was enigmatic. Yvette had skimmed through her all her mail. It was nothing special-- just a letter from Maman with a small allowance. Gradually, she witnessed in confusion as Marcelle’s lips widened, and her eyes grew bigger than she thought humanly possible. They rose at an alarming rate. “Yvette!” Marcelle already had her undivided attention, but this had slipped past her in all the excitement. “Ouais?”2she answered unsurely, not prepared for the news she knew was coming. Marcelle was easily excited. Any sort of news could have her skipping through the halls of Beauxbatons, making just enough sound with her heels to attract attention. In this state of mind, she hardly cared. Yvette rarely did either. She knew that everyone already had a strong opinion on her, if any at all. The two girls were in their fourth year, and were far beyond first impressions. They had spent most of their years together, and Yvette had learned more about Marcelle’s nature than she asked for. Still, after four years, this event was a mystery.  
She was reading The Daily Prophet, which could mean anything from the murder of Leonard Spencer-Moon to a new volume of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Although, by the frightful grin on Marcelle’s face, Yvette decided that anything like the former was entirely unlikely. “Il y aura une programme d’échange cette année!”3She quickly burst into what looked it should be screaming, but emitted no actual sound-- unless it was too high-pitched for anyone to hear. Yvette smiled understandingly, but she didn’t get substantial information to share in the excitement. She waited for Marcelle to open her eyes again. “C’est tout?”4 Marcelle was almost offended, until she realized that she hadn’t gotten to the best part. “A Poudlard!”5 Now it made sense. If anyone wanted to visit Hogwarts, it was her. She didn’t really care that it was a world class wizarding school. That was just an added bonus to the fact that Scamander had been there. Marcelle was sure that if she ever got the chance, she would beg the Sorting Hat to be in Hufflepuff. Of course, Yvette knew all this. She started hearing it four years ago, and nearly every time that Hogwarts was mentioned.  
Yvette barely thought about her house placement until that very moment. She came to no conclusion because they were quickly interrupted. “Et Ilvermorny!”6 Marguerite was sitting on the same side as Marcelle, so she was able to read the paper herself. Marguerite befriended them the last year, after being entirely disowned by a group of fifth-years. She crossed the line when she lost someone’s lipstick. Most of the school heard within the week. Marguerite recovered the lipstick after a few weeks, and decided to keep it for herself, wearing it on special occasions. In the same way Marcelle fantasized Hogwarts, she dreamt about Ilvermorny and her house. She was certain that she would be a model Pukwudgie. Occasionally, she tried to get her hands on cranberries to make what sounded like the most delicious treat in the world, but with the war, it became harder and harder to find. So, she only imagined what the dessert tasted like.  
Naturally, upon hearing the news, they were both intrigued. “Il y a rien d’autre,”7 Marcelle explained. “Comment?”8 Yvette was invested. “C’est tout ce qu’il dit,”9 Marguerite insisted.  
“Rien d’autre?”10  
“Regard.”11  
She looked. There was really nothing else. Nothing to lead to the rest of the article, nothing to indicate how to learn more information. It was simply announcing the exchange program. They were perplexed for the length of Herbology. Yvette tried to focus on the lesson. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Marcelle was in deep thought. There was nothing to suggest she knew where she was, or more importantly, that Professeur Roth had also seen her dazed face. “Mademoiselle?” She showed no signs of listening. “Marcelle Aubry!” She lifted her head. “Comment?”12 Roth started toward the door. “Suis-moi, Aubry.”13 They left the room. Marguerite commented, “Penses-tu qu’elle sera punie?”14 Yvette would usually think not, but she had heard stories of Roth’s reactions to similar situations. In fact, they were already circulating around the class in whispers. One student told the tale of a first-year who was given a mildly toxic potion for trying to correct the professor. A sixth-year was sent into the mountains to find a rare specimen after trying to inquire about it during a lecture. Supposedly, the student never returned. Several minutes later, Professeur Roth returned alone. “Revenons à nos moutons. Qu’est-ce que vous pensez de cette plante? Elle est belle? Regardez, c’est dangereuse.”15  
On the way to astronomy, Marcelle rejoined them. She did not seem incredibly distraught, although she never did. Yvette examined her expression, trying to find any explanation of what had happened while she was gone. Clearly, she was not sent into the mountains. She showed no signs of poison, although some poisons take longer than others. Yvette did not want to ask for fear that it would be a sore subject. Marcelle was very aware of Yvette’s intentions, and decided to keep it to herself for as long as she could. Needless to say, that was not long. Before they arrived at astronomy, her grin was back in the same way it had been earlier. Marguerite was was horrified by it. She could barely bring herself to look, but her pain was put to an end soon enough.  
“J’ai des bonnes nouvelles.”16 She had been perfectly prepared to be sentenced to a month of collecting mandrakes, but that was not the case. Directrice Serviot had called her out of class. Instead of letting any student apply, she wanted to recommend people. Anyone who had a conversation with Serviot knew that she had a soft spot for Marcelle. The only problem was that no one knew why. She never did particularly well in class. Her attention span was spotty. She wasn’t very popular with the students, and yet, the Directrice adored her. Everyone made sure that she never found out, which wasn’t hard in most occasions. To hear that Serviot wanted to put Marcelle on a pedestal was not not hard to believe. Although, it would be equally understandable for the Directrice to never tell her about the program so that she would stay at Beauxbatons for as long as possible. In short, Directrice Serviot was constantly confusing the entire student body, while also conforming to each and every one of their expectations. This turmoil was well-known among the students. It became the topic of many conversations. If the school had a newspaper, Yvette was certain that it would be filled with speculation for the Directrice’s actions and reactions.  
Despite Yvette’s growing curiosity for more details, Marcelle had already moved on. She was looking forward to astronomy because they were starting the chapter on Venus. She claimed it to be her favorite planet. “Mais la terre! C’est tout qui compte,”17 she bitterly argued. She was practically consumed by her curiosity. The professor walked in. She refocused. Yvette attempted to focus, at least. She was much better at it than Marcelle, almost caring about the lesson for some of the class. Still, she could not help herself from wondering the specifics of their conversation.  
By the end of the lesson, she had given herself a good idea of the conversation. She was sure that Directrice Serviot welcomed her to the room, then explained the situation to Professeur Roth. The Directrice would have then dismissed the professor to have a private conversation with her favorite student. From there, she went over the specifics. Knowing Marcelle, it took so long because she kept squealing and asking questions that would be answered later.  
“Puis-je être avec les Poufsouffles?”18  
“Ça dépend…”19  
“De quoi?”20  
“L’élève de Poudlard. Tu vas être où cet élève était.”21  
“Pourriez-vous demander à Monsieur Dippet s’il peut échanger un poufsouffle? Ca me rendrai heureuse.”22  
“Mais oui!”23  
Without even knowing what she was doing, Marcelle had probably persuaded Directrice Serviot into a strange request. Yvette only wished she could know Dippet better so that she could more accurately fantasize about how that conversation went about. Regardless, she giggled to herself at the thought of Dippet receiving that letter. Marguerite took a glance at her while she had gone through one of these quick emotions. She was purely perplexed, and just worried enough to ask for an explanation. It’s not that Yvette had a constant frown on her face, or that she generally remained unamused. It was, with all due respect, completely out of character for her to be giggling without context. Although there appeared to be no context, Marguerite convinced herself that there must have been some kind of context. If it was an inside joke with herself, she at least wanted to know.  
She recalled an instance after knowing her two friends for a couple of months. Marguerite had a comfortable understanding of them, but she was still surprised by some things. In this moment of time, the girls had just left the campus to get some candy. All three of them were elated to find a new flavor of Every-Flavor Bean. Marcelle, however, was less enthusiastic than usual. Marguerite was even more timid then. She didn’t want to bring much attention to herself. She decided to herself that she would let the expert Yvette take care of it without saying a word.  
It took Yvette much longer than expected to discover anything out of the ordinary with Marcelle. When she finally asked, Marcelle explained that she had forgotten her money under her bed. Marguerite automatically offered to pay for her. Immediately, the blonde haired girl beamed with joy. The rest of the walk, granted it was not a long way to go, she bobbed her head like a metronome in allegro. It did not matter to her that the newest flavor was soap. She bounced her head with her unique smile the whole promenade back.  
At the moment, Marguerite was unsure. Marcelle was not likely to notice anything while the professor was lecturing on her favorite planet. She wasn’t sure if there was anything wrong with Yvette at all. There may be no harm in some extra cheer from her. Although, maybe there was all the harm in the world. If this was some sort of defence mechanism, nervous giggling, she wanted to help. She wanted to know how she could help. She still didn’t get to help much. She picked up her quill to write Yvette a note. At that movement, she attracted Yvette’s attention. Marguerite couldn’t bring herself to say anything under such a spotlight; she put the quill back down.  
Yvette assumed Marguerite was going to take a note of something, but ultimately decided it was unimportant. If there was any other explanation, it had to be entirely irrational, especially since nothing about what Professeur Astrète could say in quick review of Venus basics was important. It was possible that something could come up later, but she seriously doubted it.  
The girls talked over lunch. It is assumed that had it not been for Marcelle’s spotty mind, Yvette would have burst because the very trait that caused her twitch her eyes also let her take a huge sigh of relief. Yvette told herself that she would no longer stand for not knowing the truth. There was no point in having detailed predictions if they could not be compared with reality. Luckily for her, she did not even have to bring it up.  
“La Directrice dit qu’elle va trouver une poufsouffle pour moi. Si elle peut, je serai avec les autres poufsouffles, et on va parler de M. Scamander. Et puis, quelqu’un va le connaître, et on va se rencontrer. Tout sera super!”24  
Yvette was entirely content with herself. She was almost entirely right. She wanted more, still. “Et comment tu l’as fait? Tu l’as demandé simplement?”25 She wanted to get a full record of the meeting. Marcelle thought nothing of giving all the details. If Serviot had told her, she surely wouldn’t mind if she disclosed all this information. Except, she barely thought that much. For her, anything she had heard was fair game for repetition. Yvette was often concerned about this habit. It was very lucky that she hadn’t gotten into any trouble yet, and while Marguerite thought the same thing, she was much less comfortable with saying it. Yvette had attempted countless times to help Marcelle distinguish from what was private or otherwise, but she failed every time. This instance she let slide for the single reason that she wanted to know everything.  
So, Marcelle gladly explained everything. Professeur Roth had explained to her on the way there that Serviot wanted to her to come by at the beginning of class. He had forgotten until he saw her almost asleep. He jokingly claimed to be planning her punishment, but he knew what was going on with the Directrice. She pulled students from his class a few weeks ago, which was not appreciated, but he could do nothing about it. Most of them were model students, but he was not surprised when she asked for her.  
“Je sais pas ce qu’il voulait dire quand il l’a dit…”26  
“Moi non plus… Continue.”27  
When they arrived at Serviot’s office, she was intently waiting for them. She had some sweets on her desk, which Marcelle accepted without thought. She explained to Marcelle that she overheard some of her excitement. At first, she didn’t realize that she would want to leave Beauxbatons, because the headmistress believed that Marcelle was perfectly happy here. Supposedly, as she heard about Marcelle’s reaction, she knew that she had to let her go. And, unlike other students, she knew exactly where she wanted to go, and if she wanted to go. Marcelle reported that the headmistress was at ease when informing her. She had already sent her parents a letter explaining the occasion. The program would last three months starting in a few weeks.  
As soon as they finished their food, Professeur Animard asked Marcelle to retrieve his box of carrots from the kitchen. She was especially passionate about feeding the knarls, which made her a frequent carrier of feed. Animard had other directions for Yvette and Marcelle. “Allez au bureau de Serviot, s’il vous plaît.”28  
They did as they were told. Yvette theorized that Animard was the one who told Serviot. He probably didn’t think much about it, thinking it would purely bring joy to the Headmistress. Instead, he was losing a faithful student. Of all her classes, Care of Magical Creatures was the only one Marcelle proved to be useful in. Animard was highly aware of this. He heard stories about many of her mess-ups, which obliged him to take her under his wing. Yvette assumed that he would also be writing to Hogwarts, assuring that she was in their Care of Magical Creatures class. She imagined that most of the staff was frantically sending owls to Dippet or otherwise, trying to make sure that Marcelle didn’t entirely disrupt the small school. She was also fairly certain that her meeting with Directrice Serviot was to inform her that Marcelle needed someone to keep a close eye on her. She forgot that Marguerite was also going, and therefore did not account for her having anything to do with the program.  
Marguerite, on the other hand, could only come up with reasons that she deemed impractical. There was no way that she would be any help to Serviot. Animard must have made a mistake when he told her to go to the office, or, more likely, he was just being nice. He didn’t want to leave her alone, and not thinking of anything else for her to do, she was sent with Yvette. That was the story she decided to go with, except she did not fully believe in it.  
Naturally, they were both caught off guard when the Directrice greeted Marguerite first.  
“Mademoiselle Piètois, je voudrais te dire de l’exchange à Ilvermorny. Je suis très désolée, car vous êtes la seule d’ici qui peut y aller. Il n’y a qu’une élève-là qui parle le francais. J’ai essayé si dur de trouver un autre donc vous ne serez pas toute seule, mais je me suis ratée. Je comprend que vous vouliez bien y aller…”29  
“Oui.”30  
Marguerite’s simple affirmation had a level of confidence that had never been exhibited before. It was more clear than her voice had been since she had been at Beauxbatons, and its meaning was unmistakable. She was somehow unaffected by everything that Serviot had just told her. There was no reason in her mind that would keep her from going. Yvette would have been impressed, but the small girl went back into her languished posture almost immediately. It was like thought her long wavy brown hair could hide the world from her view if she just tilted her head a little more, but no amount of it would help. She had asked for bangs before coming to Beauxbatons as a way to force her to confront her fears.  
“D’accord. Je vais dire Oreps que vous voudriez même y aller. Il sera ravi. Il vous attend, je pense. Cet école n’a jamais nos élèves à cause des langues… Vous pouvez aller au cours maintenant.”31  
Yvette instinctively stayed put. She knew that the topic was about to switch. There had been no reason for her to come just to hear about Ilvermorny-- none that she could think of. As Marguerite shut the door, Serviot dropped her smile. Yvette would have been frightened, but she had zoned out of the Ilvermorny conversation. She theorized that it had something to do with Marcelle. (It was the best she could do in such a short amount of time.) She did not need much time to be proven right.  
“Yvette, je comprends que vous êtes l’amie de Marcelle. Car vous êtes amies depuis longtemps, vous comprenez sans doute ce dont elle a besoin. J’ai un peu peur pour elle. Marcelle n’est pas vraiment… consciencieuse. Comprends-tu?-”32  
“-Oui, je sais bien.”33

The Headmistress fully explained her intentions for Yvette. She had stalled for weeks to decide if it was right to let Marcelle go, if she could go to a new school where no one knew her. Yvette would have thought that she was her mother, except that she knew better. She only wondered how often Serviot had to intervene to keep Marcelle on her feet. This amazed her until it terrified her. At Hogwarts, Directrice Serviot would be just disconnected enough to be inefficient. Yvette realized that she was not just there to watch over her friend. She was there to save her from any misfortune that might come in her path. Should she do anything less, her last years would be slaughtered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "What is that?"  
> 2\. "Yeah?"  
> 3\. "There's going to be an exchange program this year!"  
> 4\. "That's it?"  
> 5\. "At Hogwarts!"  
> 6\. "And Ilvermorny!"  
> 7\. "There's nothing else."  
> 8\. "What?"  
> 9\. "That's all it says."  
> 10\. "Nothing else?"  
> 11\. "Look."  
> 12\. "Pardon?"  
> 13\. "Follow me."  
> 14\. "Do you think she'll be punished?"  
> 15\. "Let's get back to business. What do you think of this plant? Is it pretty? Look, it's dangerous."  
> 16\. "I've got good news."  
> 17\. "But the Earth! That's all that matters."  
> 18\. "May I be with the Hufflepuffs?"  
> 19\. "That depends."  
> 20\. "On what?"  
> 21\. "The student from Hogwarts. You'll be where that student was."  
> 22\. "Could you ask Mr. Dippet if he can exchange a Hufflepuff? That would make me happy."  
> 23\. "Of course!"  
> 24\. "The Headmistress says that she'll find a Hufflepuff for me. If she can, I'll be with the other Hufflepuffs, and we'll talk about Mr. Scamander. Then, someone will surely know him, and we'll be acquainted. Everything will be super!"  
> 25\. "And how'd you do that? You simply asked for it?"  
> 26\. "Idk what he meant when he said that..."  
> 27\. "Me neither. Continue."  
> 28\. "Go to Serviot's office, please."  
> 29\. "Miss Pietois, I'd like to talk about the exchange at Ilvermorny. I'm very sorry because you're the only one who can go. There's only one student who can speak French there. I tried so hard to find another do you won't be all alone, but I failed. I understand that you really wanted to go..."  
> 30\. "Yes."  
> 31\. "Okay. I'll Oreps that you still want to go. He'll be excited. He waits for you, I think. That school never has our students because of the languages."  
> 32\. "Yvette, I understand that you're friends with Marcelle. Because you've been friends for so long, you no doubt understand what she needs. I'm a little scared for her. Marcelle isn't truly... observant. Do you understand?"  
> 33\. "Yes, I know well."


	2. Chapitre 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauxbatons Academie prepares for exchange students as Marcelle and Yvette eagerly prepare to leave.

For about a week, Marcelle settled down. She talked about it occasionally, but only to be swept away into other, less distant matters. Yvette, on the other hand, spent her free time in her mind. She tried tirelessly to form a plan. Although, it was considerably more difficult to plans when she had no idea which house she would end up in. Should she be in Hufflepuff like she and Serviot hoped, it would be much easier to take care of Marcelle. But the way she understood it, there would be plenty of trouble finding a place where they could meet in comfort.  
Beauxbatons did not have common rooms like the ones she understood to exist at Hogwarts. There was no rivalry among houses-- there were no houses. Instead, there were several lodging areas. Each room was large enough to comfortably fit 4 students. There were drawing rooms around these huddled residential areas, but similar living areas were scattered around the whole school. It was easy to find one that wasn’t busy at the moment, and most students knew better than to intrude a conversation. At least, not in an obvious manner. Though no one could prove it, these quick plagues of gossip were probably fuelled through espionage in the parlors. In general, Beauxbatons knew to keep their voices just low enough to hear footsteps, then adjust accordingly.  
Never once did Yvette or Marcelle think about what would happen when they left. All that thought was left to Marguerite, She found herself taking walks alone through the school. They were all imagined promenades of course. She could never really get much time alone without raising attention. But when she walked to Care of Magical Creatures, she realized that she had taken the long way. She was not at all mad at herself. In fact, she was proud of herself. She examined the nearly empty halls. It was hard to see them so empty. She pictured them with people. All of them talked, naturally. She imagined they talked about her. When she was gone, they could easily forget her. She decided that this was for the better. When she was gone, whatever student replaced would likely be welcomed, and she would find herself at home at Beauxbatons. They would not realize that this new student was replacing her, instead, they would see her as a completely new person. As an older student passed her, and waved hello, she realized that she also wanted this treatment. If she was replacing someone incredible in every way, she would be a miserable substitute. This revelation hit her right as the boy walked by, and she didn’t acknowledge him. The boy continued his walk considerably less optimistically.  
When she arrived at class, Marcelle was intently watching the ramoras. She especially enjoyed watching the light move across their scales. Despite how long she had been able to focus on the fish, it was all forgotten when she heard Marguerite. “Regard les puffskeins, Marguerite! Je l’ai nommé Yvain. Il est si mignon…”1  
Nobody bothered asking Marcelle why she did something. Anyone’s explanation was as good as hers. It was useless to ask, but Marguerite did anyway, “Pourquoi il s’appelle Yvain? Est-ce qu’il y un raison?”2  
“Mais oui! Il était le premier nom dans ma tête.”3  
Marguerite decided not to sigh. In truth, she expected nothing more.  
Then Professeur Animard discovered that Marguerite had come back. He was excited to tell her that they had discovered a new diricawl in their enclosure when they came back. However, he could not get this thought fully out of his head because Marcelle started squealing, saying that she would let Marguerite name the bird. “Euh,” she lingered. “Bou… Bou… Nette…” Marcelle shrieked with joy, “Boubounette! Je l’adore!”4 Later, M. Animard would tell Marguerite that Boubounette had a very feminine name for a male diricawl. Marguerite could only mumble her apology. The professor assumed what she said was more than enough.  
Animard was almost done with his short lecture on the care of a diricawl when Yvette came to class. Marguerite greeted her first, but Marcelle was close behind. She had thought very little of what Yvette might have been up to that took so long. She was vaguely aware that she was not there to talk to. Over the past hour, she had turned to say something, but Yvette was not there. She resorted to Animard for these quick simple remarks. He tried to get her to talk to another student, and for nearly 10 consecutive minutes, Marcelle questioned an older student about his love for puffskeins, which he did not think that he had, until Marcelle insisted that he must.  
Yvette imagined something like that happen on her way back. She didn’t worry about that much. She carried out the rest of the day normally. A week later one night, she discovered a small note that looked like it had been there for ages. However, Yvette knew it was placed there today. She conducted the majority of the cleaning. She knew her dorm like the back of her hand. She kept the entire dorm clean, with the partial consent of her roommates. For someone so clean, her freckled face and tight brown curls seemed to undermine her entire way of life. She did everything in her power to counteract this. Her uniform shared none of the spots on her face, nor did it wrinkle like her hair. She therefore balanced her messy face with pristine attire. Anyone who still mistook her would be quickly corrected like any other muddle.  
But the letter was unmistakably new. It looked like it fit in, but Yvette was sure it did not. When everyone had fallen asleep, she read the note by the light of her wand. 

Mlle. Tellgente,  
Je voudrais vous informer que vous serez dans Serdaigle. J’ai essayé tant de faire trouver Dippet une autre poufsouffle. Il a dit qu’il cherchait, mais que c’était en vain. Les poufsouffles, dit-il, détestent partir. Mais, il y avait une fille serdaigle qui voulait étudier ici. M. Dippet croit que vous aimerez mieux Serdaigle. Ils vont mieux vous comprendre. Je sais que tout ça fait plus difficile votre boulot, mais vous allez être plus confortable.5  
Je vous prie de croire, Mademoiselle, à l’expression de mes meilleurs sentiments.  
Madame la Directrice Serviot

“Zut.”6  
“Comment?”7 Marcelle had woken up from her quiet slumber. It caught Yvette off guard. Marcelle was not the type to wake up at a quick comment like that. She slept heavily, except when she had a nightmare, of course. Marcelle did not hesitate to wake up a few people so that she didn’t have to deal with her nightmares alone. Luckily, she did not have them often, and it was very easy to get her to think happy thoughts.  
Yvette would have liked more time to think about what to say to Marcelle. She didn’t want Marcelle to lose any sleep over something that could end up being a small inconvenience. It occurred to her in nanoseconds that she could put off the subject for later. That was the best idea she could have thought of, and she therefore decided to use it. “Ce n’est rien d’importance. Je te dirai demain.”8 Marcelle was quick to accept this, and they both fell to sleep.  
While Yvette tried to think of ways to tell Marcelle the news, she was dreaming. It was a very simple dream. At some point in the near future, she was feeding a group of jobberknolls. There were many students around her, and she assumed they were Hogwarts students, although they all spoke perfect French to her. As if instantly, she was in a lecture, but she knew the professor. In her mind, she was being taught by Mr. Scamander himself. She imagined that he spoke quietly, but it didn’t matter because everyone listened. After class, Directrice Serviot came in to introduce her to Scamander, and he invited her to tea. Of course, Yvette tagged along. She ate her weight in scones because they never seemed to disappear. Despite this, Marcelle woke up hungry.  
“Yvette, crois-tu qu’il y a des scones quelque part près d’ici?”9  
“Non… pourquoi?”10  
She had already forgotten most of the dream. She was incapable of explaining her sudden craving for scones. Marcelle settled for an éclair au chocolat. It satisfied her. Yvette watched her contently eating, thinking that maybe Marcelle would never have to know, but she realized that such a scenario was not possible. Yvette told her about the note. Marcelle was confused at first, but she was quick to let it slide. She let it go so quickly that Yvette worried that maybe she didn’t make herself clear. She repeated herself. Marcelle was still unmoved. She still smiled, because she could only imagine that the Hufflepuffs would befriend her immediately, and they would instantly accept Yvette, too.  
Yvette, on the other hand, was not worried so much about how the Hufflepuffs received her. They were irrelevant now. She worried about the house she was now stuck in. Would they accept Marcelle? Would they actually accept her? It was hard to believe that Professor Dippet had any grasp of her personality. Of course, she could not argue with his reasoning. She had done absolutely no research on the houses. All she knew about was Hufflepuff house. Marcelle had never asserted which house she would be in because she had never asked. She was always willing to answer these types of questions. To her, it meant that the person asking was just as passionate as her.  
As for the Beauxbatons, they were far more concerned with the incoming students than those coming in. Marcelle and Yvette were given a few farewells from their closer friends. They were not required to help with decoration. Still, they saw it, and often chose to anyway. The Beauxbatons had a sense of pride that resulted in almost obsessive behaviors. Most of the decorations were set up a week before anyone would be coming. There would be a small yet lavish going-away party for the students who were leaving. It was by invitation only, and while students could request people, neither Yvette nor Marcelle had much preference as to who they invited. Yvette settled on the third-year from botany who sat next to her, occasionally joking around. Sometimes, he even approached her on breaks, but not for very long. His name was Amdréus, and she never cared to ask for his last name. Marcelle, after creating a long mental list of people she considered to be her friend, invited the other girls: Jeannine, Alstroemeria, and Amette.  
The party itself was nothing over the top. It was a casual Beauxbatons party, which is to say, quite sensible and sumptuous. There were silver and blue decorations all over the small banquet room. This was not the same room that the welcoming ceremony would be in. There was a substantially larger banquet room for that. This small room was obviously for more exclusive parties, and it was impossible to tell how often it was used. Despite the way gossip spread through Beauxbatons, the students and staff were surprisingly good at keeping these parties secret. So, it was even more exciting to invited to one of these parties, and no one ever turned down an invitation. Everyone wore elegant dresses and suits, although this was to be expected. Beauxbatons in general dress up at every occasion.  
There was very little to do at the party. There was food, of course. Yvette knew to savor it while she could. It would be awhile before she could have a quality French meal again. Marcelle was almost too excited to eat. After half an hour, she settled minimally. Blue macarons piled on her plate when she was done. Yvette preferred a cheese plate, of course. She had one too many macarons within her first week, and it pained her to look at them for prolonged periods of time. An hour in, Directrice Serviot began her speech. She was clear and intentional. She claimed that she would miss everyone who would be leaving, but she knew how much passion that had for each and every one of their destinations. She wanted everyone to go forth and represent Beauxbatons with pride and elegance. They were sure to be the most cordial, the most sophisticated, and the most brilliant students at each of their new schools-- not to say the students at other schools were not cordial, sophisticated, or brilliant. The whole room snickered with her. She announced everyone who was going, and where they were going. No one was more celebrated than another. They were all equally proud.  
At the end of the party, everyone assured that they would miss the student who was leaving. Not many of them were convincing. Marcelle seemed to believe even the people she had never met before. She assumed she had just forgotten their faces, which was common after a few years. Yvette knew better. The only people she fully believed were her roommates. It surprised her that Amdréus actually chose to stick around her the whole party. Even more, it perplexed her that he actually requested to send her an owl from time to time. Yvette went along with it, of course. She had no intention of initiating conversation with him while she was busy taking care of Marcelle.  
Within a few days, it was time to leave. To her own surprise, Yvette had successfully overseen Marcelle’s trunk packing. It had everything she needed for a few months. The staying Beauxbatons watched as the leaving students levitated their trunks through the halls and into the receiving room, where each student was transported into a new school by floo powder. Each student that left was replaced with a new one in less than a minute. The line was organized by school, and it gave Marcelle and Yvette plenty of time to get to know the other Beauxbatons going to Hogwarts. Marguerite was behind their group. She waited silently, but she was clearly ecstatic to leave. She kept her eye on the elaborate fireplace, taking note on everyone who came in. They formed a line that would tour around the school at some point.  
Yvette was the first to go to Hogwarts. She waved goodbye to the school just like everyone else. A tall girl in a long robe replaced her. Then, it was Marcelle’s turn. “Au revoir, tout le monde!”11 she yelled for the entire room to hear. “Vous allez me manquer!”12 She was ready to say more, but an unknown professor cut her off. “Eh bien, d’accord, allez, Mademoiselle Aubry…”13 She took a deep breath and sent herself away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Look at these puffskeins, Marguerite! I named this one Yvain. He is so cute..."  
> 2\. "Why is he named Yvain? Is there a reason?"  
> 3\. "Of course! It was the first name in my head."  
> 4\. "Boubounette! I love it!"  
> 5\. "I'd like to inform you that you'll be in Ravenclaw. I tried so much to make Dippet find another Hufflepuff. He said that he looked, but it was in vain. Hufflepuffs, he says, hate to leave. But, there was one Ravencla girl who wanted to study here. Mr. Dippet believes that you'll prefer Ravenclaw. They'll understand you better. I know that all that makes your job more difficult, but you'll be more comfortable."  
> 6\. "Dang."  
> 7\. "Pardon?"  
> 8\. "It's nothing important. I'll tell you tomorrow."  
> 9\. "Yvette, do you think there are some scones somewhere near here?"  
> 10\. "No... why?"  
> 11\. "Goodbye, everyone!"  
> 12\. "I'll miss you all!"  
> 13\. "Sure, okay, go on, Miss Aubry..."


	3. Chapitre 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beauxbatons arrive at Hogwarts. Marcelle quickly befriends her roommates, but one mysterious student catches her eye.

They were transported into a kitchen. Yvette was slightly underwhelmed by it. The location would have been a problem, except there were much less people in this kitchen than were in the receiving room of Beauxbatons. Yvette understood that they were taking the students out as soon as the whole group arrived. A small girl with dark hair waited for them. She had a welcoming smile, but did not try to start a conversation. When all six Beauxbatons appeared, she began her presentation. “Bonjour, Beauxbatons, je m’appelle Eleanor.”1 Marcelle was astonished. “Tu parles francais?”2 Eleanor’s collected smile changed into a more uncomfortable one. “Um, oui… un peu…”3 Yvette could not stand another second of it. “It’s okay. We all speak English. You can speak English to us.” Eleanor took a sigh of relief. She tried again. “So, this is the kitchen. It is very useful for those of you who want a snack. If any of you are going to the Hufflepuff--”  
“Me! I’m going to the Hufflepuff house!”  
“What is your name?”  
“Marcelle Aubry.”  
“Enchantée.”4  
“Anyway, the Hufflepuff house is the closest to the kitchen. I’m sure you’ll take advantage of that, Marcelle. I am in Ravenclaw myself. Any other Ravenclaws?”  
Yvette raised her hand as if for an oath. She had half the enthusiasm that Marcelle exhibited.  
“And what’s your name?”  
“Yvette Tellegente.”  
“That sounds… hard to spell. Anyway, Yvette, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other because houses tend to spend all their free time together.”  
Eleanor did not appear to pick up on the sarcasm in Yvette’s voice when she proclaimed how excited she was. The Ravenclaw asked for Slytherins. There were none. The other four people were going to be in Gryffindor. Yvette could not help but feel like she had wasted half an hour trying to get to know them. They looked like tourists going through the halls. Some of the students were nice enough to welcome the group, others tried to ignore them. Marcelle struggled to control her excitement. She wanted shriek when she saw the moving staircase for the first time. Instead, she tugged on Yvette. In all her life, she had never seen it. Once, she read about it, but that was not enough. Eleanor lead them up, and Marcelle could not decide on a place to look as the stairs under her feet moved. Walking through the Quad, a student caught Marcelle’s eye. He was alone, reading a rather large book. She didn’t like that he was alone. His well-groomed appearance suggested that he was kind. Marcelle would have sat right by his side if she wasn’t touring. She was curious. “Qui est-ce que?”5 she asked Yvette. “Je le connais pas. Pourquoi tu penserais que je le connais?”6 she calmly reasoned. Marcelle understood. Yvette was sharing the same lack of knowledge that she was. It was strange for Marcelle. Yvette always had the answers whenever she needed them. There was no way for her to know all the answers in Hogwarts. They were practically equals in that sense. It was hard for her to truly realize the full implications from the situation. She virtually chose to ignore ideas like those.  
Yvette was paying sincere attention to the tour. She searched for places where she could be mostly alone. The house common rooms were entirely useless for these purposes, and it looked like she would not be able to sit with Marcelle at lunch anymore. Everything was so separated. She was surprised that different houses had the same classes, although that made sense when she realized just how few students actually attended Hogwarts, especially compared to Beauxbatons. She wondered what percentage of them had left. Maybe five percent of Beauxbatons school participated in the exchange. She estimated a quarter of Hogwarts participated. Yvette had no real reason for that number; it just seemed right. It became uncomfortable not knowing that statistic for sure. She did not know who to ask, until Eleanor, who had abruptly stopped the tour, said cheerfully, “Any questions?” She had almost turned around to resume the tour when Yvette interjected. “Actually, I was wondering how many students study at Hogwarts.” Delighted, she responded that there were around one thousand students in Hogwarts, although the exact number changes every year. Apparently, this year had seen less than normal because there were only nine hundred fifty-two students.  
When the tour was over, they went to lunch. They had all dropped off their luggage near the dorms, because they didn’t know how to get in yet. At lunch, someone was supposed to tell them. Yvette assumed that she would just have to figure it out for herself, which she was sure she could do. She followed Eleanor to the Ravenclaw table, and Marcelle sat at the Hufflepuff table, right behind her. It did not take long for some real Hufflepuffs to sit down next to her. They introduced themselves immediately.  
“Hello, I’m Bysshe”  
“I’m Rigel.”  
“I’m Philotis.”  
“Hi, I’m Marcelle,” she greeted. All of them were ecstatic to see a new person at the table. Philotis explained that they knew the girl who went to Beauxbatons in her place. She was one of the more adventurous in their house, and very knowledgeable about French culture, somehow. Everyone assumed that she must have learned French in her primary education because she claimed to be fluent by her second year. Only a few Hogwarts students actually spoke French, and most of them probably took advantage of that. Bysshe apologized for his inability to speak French. Rigel offered to introduce her to the other girls in their dorm. Marcelle was eager to see her all of her roommates. They devoured minimal portions before taking Marcelle to the greenhouse. Meles and Galivora were watering the asphodel intently, and did not notice them until Marcelle’s clacking heels were within hearing range. They turned heads in unison. Both of them wore glasses, and they both had black hair and dark brown eyes, but the similarities mostly stopped there. Meles was taller than Galivora. Meles’s nose was thin and rounded, which only stood out when compared to Galivora’s, which was much sharper. Meles was completely transfixed on Marcelle, while Galivora glared at Philotis. “We weren’t supposed to meet her until tonight…” She attempted to be subtle, yet even Marcelle was aware of her comment. She sensed the tension, and immediately sought to relax it. She decided to change the subject. “I love asphodel. It’s rather pretty, although I think aconite might be my favorite, it’s just such a nice color, and moly is nice, too.” Meles took a deep breath, and pulled them all in for a hug. She practically pushed them this way the whole walk to charms.  
There, Marcelle saw Yvette again. She was quite alone in the front of the classroom. Her blue dress stood out amongst the black robes, and she seemed to be a focal point. Many people stared at her, but she did not notice. Her eyes were fixated on the entrance. Her face loosened when Marcelle made her way in. “Marcelle! Ici!”7 That caught her attention. Marcelle’s new roommates all followed her to the front of the room as classmates whispered. Yvette did not know what they were saying to each other; she assumed it pertained to her and Marcelle. After she had spoken, the whispers were much louder, but no single conversation was particularly audible. “Ils sont qui?”8 she demanded an answer. Yvette only wished she could take notes. It was obvious that her friend would be making new friends everyday. “Elle s'appelle Meles, et elle s’appelle Philotis, et elle s’appelle Galivora, et elle s’appelle Rigel.”9  
“D’accord.”10  
“Elles sont mes camarades de chambre!”11  
Now Yvette understood. She was surprised that the friends she had made were just her roommates. Yvette had not yet met her roommates, and didn’t plan to until later. When class started, she picked up her quill and started taking vigorous notes. She translated every word into French for Marcelle. She spoke English well, but it was never clear if she really comprehended or zoned out. The professor was kind enough to give them no attention on their first day. There was one other exchange student, but he was from Castelobruxo. Yvette had learned during lunch that most of the students were from Ilvermorny, although Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had relatively large numbers as well. Immediately, she had thought of Marguerite, but the thought ended there.  
On the way to their next class, Yvette tried quizzing Marcelle on the lesson, just to see if she had retained any of it. She did not get far before Bysshe came up to her, asking for her name. She was prepared to ignore him, but Marcelle took on the introduction. She made them shake hands. Somehow, this actually worked. As her roommates caught up, she managed to pull Bysshe to the side. “Bysshe,” she struggled to pronounce his name, but he did not mind. “I need you to help me. I have to make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble while she’s here. I understand she will be spending a lot of her time with all of you since you are in the same house.” Bysshe gave her all his attention. Her accent was thick, and she talked with a strong sense of purpose. Her voice required that attention. She explained the entire situation, and demanded that he help. Bysshe nodded. Their conversation ended there, and no one else knew that it had ever taken place, until, Yvette hoped, later, when the group would plan how best to help Marcelle. In the meantime, Yvette was forced to do something she disliked very much. There was nothing more dreadful than trusting strangers to do her work for her.  
That evening, when everyone went to their common rooms, she sat on the couch, staring at the books, trying to tune out the other Ravenclaws. She kept her chest at her side in an attempt to have some personal space, but the couch was in high demand. Eleanor saw her sitting there alone, and she provided some valuable information. “Let’s bring that chest to our room. So you can get settled in.” Yvette followed Eleanor to their room. It was neat. It was clean. Her eyes shined at the sight of it. She had never entered a room to be like this. Eleanor pointed at her new bed. “This one’s yours. Hortense cleaned the sheets this morning.”  
“I hope you like lavender,” a girl interrupted. Yvette assumed that she was the previously named Hortense. Her blonde hair made her resemble Marcelle almost too much. Nevertheless, she decided that it would not be an issue, and they all settled for the night. A knock thundered through the room. “Yvette Tellegente,” it was a woman’s voice. “Please come with me.” Yvette, already in her nightgown, slipped out of the room to see the small lady. “No, no, no, Miss Tellegente. You must put on some clothes!” Miss Tellegente nodded and changed back into her uniform. Satisfied, they walked through the dark, deserted halls. Occasionally a professor would pass them and tip a hat, not hiding their sense of confusion. The two arrived at the Headmaster’s office. It was not just Professor Dippet. There were several other teachers there too. Yvette recognized most of them from the afternoon classes. “Mlle Tellegente, I trust that you have met most of these teachers already.” She nodded. “But they did not quite understand who you were. I have brought you here to better explain your purpose.” He directed his attention at the teachers. “This is Mlle Tellegente. Everyone say bonjour to her.” In unison, they greeted her. “Bonjour, Mlle Tellegente.” “Right. Mlle Tellegente is here because of her-- I think we can assume-- best friend, Mlle Aubry, can be troublesome. Mme Serviot insists that she is an extremely kind girl with a passion for animals, but she tends to trail off, if that makes sense.”  
Yvette yawned. It was late, and there was nothing to be gained from the meeting. Dippet explained that she was there to help with Aubry, but they were expected to pull their own weight. It could have been a very short meeting, but Dippet was incredibly thorough and prone to pausing. It did not discourage him when all the professors nodded at every pause. Some of them nodded for the entire lecture. Some of them looked as tired as Yvette. They were dismissed, resulting in her sluggish stroll back to her room. Her wand guided her to her new clean bed.  
The next day, she woke up to the sound of shuffling. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that her roommates were getting dressed. “Quelle-- What time is it?” One of them responded, “It looks about 7 o’clock. You’ve still got plenty of time.” There was still an hour before breakfast. It was earlier than she was used to, but even so, she was not used to being the last one awake. Yvette jumped out of bed. She put on her blue dress and blazer, but decided to skip the hat. Her roommates waited for her to make the bed, then left for breakfast. The meal was huge. A Beauxbatons meal of this size would be reserved for special occasions. She realized very quickly that she would have trouble keeping up with her roommates. After she was done, Marcelle appeared to the back of her. “Yvette! Ça va?”12 It startled Yvette. “Ouais, tout va bien.”13 Yvette motioned at Eleanor who was piling bacon onto her plate. “Elle est ma camarade de chambre.”14 Marcelle was genuinely excited for her, but she lost focus all too quickly. “Yvette!”  
“Ouais?”15  
“Ce garcon! Il est de la cour d’hier!”16  
“Arrête-le. C’est pas poli.”17 Yvette turned back to the Slytherin table. “Je crois pas qu’il est lui.”18  
“Non, je suis certaine.”19  
Seeing no end to it, Yvette turned to her side, where Eleanor was paying no attention to their conversation because she was much more focused on the bacon. “Eleanor, who is that boy?”  
“Which one?”  
“The one with the dark, wavy hair.”  
“I’m going to need more than that. They all have dark, wavy hair.”  
“No, no, no. Not over there. Right there. Next to the boy with straight blonde hair.”  
“Ohhh, I see. I think his name is Tom… Tom Fiddle or something.”  
Yvette checked back with Marcelle who was looming over her. “L’As tu entendu? Tom Fiddle. Peut-être il y a quelqu’un qui peut te dire plus.”20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Hello, Beauxbatons, my name is Eleanor."  
> 2\. "You speak French?"  
> 3\. "Um, yes... a little..."  
> 4\. "Nice to meet you."  
> 5\. "Who is that?"  
> 6\. "I don't know him. Why would you think I know him?"  
> 7\. "Marcelle! Here!"  
> 8\. "They are who?"  
> 9\. "Her name is Meles, and her name is Philotis, and her name is Galivora, and her name is Rigel."  
> 10\. "Okay."  
> 11\. "They're my roomies!"  
> 12\. "Yvette! How's it going?"  
> 13\. "Fine, everything's going well."  
> 14\. "She's my roommate."  
> 15\. "Yeah?"  
> 16\. "That boy! He's from the courtyard from yesterday!"  
> 17\. "Stop that. It's not polite."  
> 18\. "I don't think that's him."  
> 19\. "No, I'm sure."  
> 20\. "Did you hear that? Tom Fiddle. Maybe there's someone who can tell you more."


	4. Chapitre 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcelle and Yvette make new friends-- literally.

That might have appeased Marcelle forever, but there was a slight issue-- she saw Tom Fiddle alone again, walking through the halls. Yvette stopped her from yelling just in time. “Tais-toi!”1 She pulled Marcelle to the side. “C’est pas possible. Ici, c’est trop calme.”2 Tom kept walking, and turned round a corner. Marcelle was hypnotized, and kept following him until Yvette took her hand and lead her down the correct path. They walked to a quiet end of the hallway. “Je veux être son ami. Il est toujours seul. Peut-être il est sympa.”3 “Peut-être,”4 Yvette thought. “Peut-être il y a un raison qu’il est toujours seul.”5 She could think of no good way to express her concerns to Marcelle. “T’es sur? C’est ce que tu veux?”6 She nodded her curled blond hair. They turned around and travelled to Transfiguration. Marcelle’s new friends saved seats for both Marcelle and Yvette. This came in handy since they were almost late. The professor watched them come in. Marcelle did not notice, but Yvette had to pretend she saw nothing.  
Professor Dumbledore seemed very happy to see exchange students in his class on the first day, but his enthusiasm was lost. At least, Yvette could not tell if Dumbledore already dreaded their existence or if he was actually still glad they had come. He had to be especially patient with Marcelle, who took several tries before she got the transformation she desired. She once turned a small flower into a horklump, which no one thought was possible until that day. Unfortunately, Marcelle was trying to make a necklace. Not a single Beauxbaton outside of that class ever believed the story to be anything more than a legend. That day, Marcelle was trying with all her might to turn a candlestick into a bowtruckle. She struggled time after time. It turned into candelabrum, then a hairbrush, then a ribbon, then a full sized malaclaw, which wreaked havoc for a few seconds before Dumbledore came to the rescue. He turned the creature into a small twig. “Marcelle, let’s try this again. First, you’ll find it much easier to transfigure something when it already resembles what you want it to be.” Sure enough, Marcelle turned the twig into a bowtruckle. “May I keep it?” she asked. “Go ahead,” gifted Dumbledore. He conjured a respectable cage for it.  
Marcelle, along with the Hufflepuffs and Yvette, paraded out to the edge of the woods. “Mr. Kettleburn!” they yelled in unison. Yvette heard a screeching sound followed by “I’ll be right there!” Sure enough, Professor Kettleburn was right there. He was delighted to see visitors outside of class. “What have we here?” He stooped down to examine the cage. Whispering, he recounted, “A bowtruckle! How cute!”  
“Thank you, Mr. Kettleburn. I transfigured it earlier. I was wondering how to best care for it.”  
“Do you happen to have a tree in your room?”  
“Euh, no.”  
“You’ll need one. This little guy will want a tree that it can perch from. Have you named it yet?”  
“Nunnos.”  
“That’s beautiful! You should take little Nunnos to the greenhouses. Maybe Mrs. Verda will have a small tree you can use.”  
So, they all marched to the greenhouses. Mrs. Verda was watering in Greenhouse Four. They walked in single-file. The party realized very quickly that class was about to start. There were younger students that had surrounded the greenhouse, waiting for their teacher. “We try again later,” Meles suggested. Everyone shrugged. They opened the door without having said a word to Mrs. Verda and left. Pushing through 2nd-years, the whole troop made their ways to potions. Yvette was very aware that everyone stopped talking when they entered. Galivora and Marcelle were leading a conversation about honey. It was taking much longer than necessary because Marcelle lacked the vocabulary to say that she wanted her very own beehive, especially after she had visited a farm with one once. Slughorn listened to them from his desk before getting bored. “Alright, class. Let’s make some potions. Who can name an ingredient for girding potion, hm?” Eleanor mouthed to Yvette, “Dogs eat leg.” “Pardon?” Yvette mouthed back. Eleanor repeated. Slughorn, clearly listening in, encouraged them, “I think I heard one!”  
“Leg?”  
“Close enough, Mlle Tellegente. Doxy egg!”  
He pulled out a basket of eggs. They were tiny, but beautiful. They were black, but somehow reflected blue. She witnessed Marcelle’s reaction. Her blue eyes sparkled with wonder. The bowtruckle was also wide-eyed, but for completely different reasons. It was tiny, but was visibly shivering. Poor Nunnos, Yvette recalled its name. It was in a corner, and there was no where for the creature to hide. She understood the need for a tree. The frightened, helpless little bowtruckle gave her déjà vu, but she could not think why. She was totally in control of her situation. There was no fear in her. Marcelle was equally dauntless because Yvette had protected her from any reason to be scared. “Quelqu’un autre?”5 she thought to herself. “Personne.”6 she ruled. Still, Yvette did not want to see Nunnos in distress much longer. It distracted her. She quickly devised a plan. There would be two groups-- one would run the creature back to the dorms, and the other to get a tree. This would require her and Marcelle to split up, but she decided that she trusted Meles enough to accompany her. She assigned Bysshe to her tree-gathering group. He was scrawny, but still stronger than everyone else. It wouldn’t matter much, because Galivora and Rigel would also be there to help.  
Galivora was the first to call her plan into question. “Couldn’t we just levitate the tree?”  
“We could.”  
“Wouldn’t that be much easier.”  
“I don’t know. That would depend on your spellcasting abilities.”  
“I say we do that, then!” Marcelle interjected, not sensing any of the tension.  
And so, they did that. Galivora and Yvette travelled back up to the greenhouses, followed by Rigel. They did not say a word the whole way. Mrs. Verda was watering in a different greenhouse this time. The trio snuck up on her. No one said a word. Finally, she turned around, finding, to her horror, three girls intently watching her. “Mrs. Verda, we need a tree,” Yvette calmly explained.  
“A what?”  
“A tree,” Galivora repeated. “It’s for Marcelle’s new bowtruckle,” added Rigel. Mrs. Verda mumbled to herself. She walked past them into a different greenhouse. In the corner of greenhouse five, there were several trees in their early stages, organized from oldest to youngest. “How does this one suit you?” she asked Rigel. Rigel blushed intensely. Galivora answered for her, “That will do fine.” “Thank you, Mrs. Verda,” credited Yvette. “We’ll bring it to her room.” And so they did. The feathery Rowan tree shook as it was levitated down the stairs and past the kitchen.  
By some miracle, they arrived in time for class. All three of them were panting, and Mr. Binns was definitely waiting for them. He started teaching as soon as they sat down. As Mr. Binns floated around the room, his voice was a cue for most of the class to fall asleep. Previous classes saw Yvette and Mr. Binns getting into deep conversations about the thought processes of Bridget Wenlock. Marcelle tried to contribute occasionally. She was definitely listening, but she struggled to imagine any process for discovery, maybe even thought in general.  
The bowtruckle was ready for a meal by the time classes were over. “Comment est-ce que je le nourris?”8  
“Je n’ai aucune idée. Peut-être Mr. Kettleburn sait.”9  
It was an hour until curfew, but it didn’t look like it. The halls were vacant. Marcelle somehow noticed, and was on edge as they journeyed to visit Kettleburn. They were able to tune out the sound of their heals on the ground. Still, Yvette had always wished that she could wear quieter shoes after class ended at least. She knew that at any moment, anyone could sneak up on them if they tried hard enough. Clearly, whoever was behind them was not really trying. Their footsteps were heavy and fast. It dawned on Yvette just before Marcelle that they should stop analyzing the steps, and just look back. A rather large student ran towards them. Neither Beauxbaton had ever seen him before. Yvette’s first instinct was to make way. She pulled Marcelle to the side of the hall. Marcelle was curious. “Why are you running?” she asked if in a normal conversation. 10 meters ahead, the student stopped. “I don’t really want to be seen right now… I don’t need to be found again…”  
“It’s like cache-cache!”  
“What?”  
“--Don’t mind her.”  
“You should come with us. We’re going to see Mr. Kettleburn to ask him a question!”  
“What’s your question?”  
“My new bowtruckle, Nunnos, is hungry--”  
“We think. We don’t actually know how much to feed a bowtruckle.”  
“Oh, that’s easy. They eat insects about twice a day. Here, I’ll get you some that Nuhno will find irresistible.”  
They followed him through parts of the school they had never seen before. Yvette masked her suspicion, but kept a close watch on the unnamed student. The eerily quiet halls heightened her fear, as if at any moment, someone was sure to jump out of the corner to scare her. They would not succeed, of course. Yvette was scared of nothing. Marcelle, she worried, would make a fool of herself after any quick fright. The student lead them to a door. “Let me just make sure it’s safe.” He peaked through the door. Yvette tried to get a glimpse of the other side, but she failed. It didn’t matter. The student let the Beauxbatons enter shortly after. “The kitchen!” Marcelle exclaimed. “Yes, and it should have some insects-- Ahah! There’re the crickets!” As he opened the cabinet, chirping filled the room. He took three crickets, and put them in a mug. Apparently, that would be enough to hold Nuhno over until the morning. The girls proceeded to leave the kitchen when the student asked them where they were headed. “I’m going back to the Hufflepuff common room.” “That should be easy enough from here. And you?” “Ravenclaw.” “That’s quite a walk. Do you want me to show you a shortcut?” Yvette was highly suspicious still. She reflected on all the wasted time spent on going from the Hufflepuff entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. “Sure,” she decided. Marcelle left wishing Yvette, and consequently the boy, a bonne nuit. Yvette followed the kid out of the kitchen. “Thank you for your help.” “You’re mighty welcome.” She realized that neither of them had asked him his name. “My name’s Yvette. What’s yours?”  
“Rubeus,” he replied.  
“That’s nickel. My friend’s name is Marcelle, by the way. She tends to get carried away before we can introduce ourselves.”  
Rubeus brushed off the strange adjective. He conversed with her until they arrived at the common room. They wished each other goodnight, and Yvette returned to her roommates. Eleanor was very curious. “What were you doing?” She explained the bowtruckle situation, artfully leaving out any acquaintances acquired on the way. The whole story was just enough to appease. Yvette did not desire to go through the entirety of the scenario, imagining that no one else would want to hear it. She was interested in learning more about Rubeus; she had never seen him before. It was possible there were many classes she never saw, but she thought it improbable. She elected to ask later, if ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Quiet!"  
> 2\. "That's not okay. It's too calm here."  
> 3\. "I want to be his friend. He's always alone. Maybe he's nice."  
> 4\. "Maybe"  
> 5\. "Maybe there's a reason he's always alone."  
> 6\. "You're sure? It's what you want?"  
> 7\. "Someone else?"  
> 8\. "Nobody."  
> 9\. "How do I feed it?"  
> 10\. "I have no clue. Maybe Mr. Kettleburn knows."


	5. Chapitre 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcelle and Yvette make progress on their investigation, but are caught off guard when Marcelle's roommates take her attention.

Surprisingly-- or maybe not surprising at all-- Marcelle seemed to have forgotten Rubeus. More exhausting to Yvette was how Marcelle had not already forgotten about the dark-haired Tom Fiddle. She started by making inquiry to Yvette. “Penses-tu que Tom Fiddle aime les botrucs?”1 Yvette took a deep breath. She was not prepared to endure the pointless interrogations. She suggested the first name she could think of. “Eleanor va savoir. Elle est bien d’ici.”2  
Immediately, she regretted bringing Eleanor into this. Eleanor barely knew Marcelle, and undoubtedly thought she was normal. It would make sense for a normal person like Yvette to be friends with another normal person, but Eleanor, Yvette assumed, would be mistaken. Marcelle was obsessing over a random stranger. She sighed. This was nothing new to her. Eleanor was sure to be shocked,  
“I don’t know Tom that well, actually. He’s not in any of my courses. I think he’s a year older than us. Supposedly he’s really smart, too.--But I don’t know about his creature preferences,” she gracefully responded.  
Yvette hoped that would be the end of it. There was surely nothing else to be said. She lamented; she was wrong.  
“Do you know anyone who might know?”  
“I bet my friend Comfit will be able to help you. She’s actually his age and probably has a class or two with him.”  
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”  
“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’ll introduce you at dinner.”  
Yvette assumed that Comfit was not actually a real person. It made more sense that Eleanor had made up the person to appease Marcelle. Any sensible person would do that. She had learned over the two weeks that Eleanor was almost as sensible as she was. Mlle Tellegente assumed this was a Ravenclaw trait, which would be why Mme Serviot put her there. If in some case Comfit was real, she hoped she too was a Ravenclaw. All of potions, Yvette wondered why the other houses exist when they paled in comparison to Ravenclaw. Looking at Marcelle and her Hufflepuff friends, she sighed. They too needed to be taught wizardry.  
Unfortunately, Comfit was real. She was tall with red, shiny hair. The rest of her body was flushed, but she did not act like she was sick. “Hello!” she greeted warmly. Marcelle was not shy. She was behaved enough to converse with Comfit before interrogating her about Tom Fiddle. Eleanor and Yvette listened, but contributed nothing to the conversation. Yvette hoped Marcelle would forget.  
“Do you know Tom Fiddle?”  
“Tom Fiddle?”  
“Yes, the boy with the dark, wavy hair.”  
“That sounds like Tom Riddle to me.”  
“Tom Riddle?” Marcelle’s accent was too strong to perfect his corrected last name. She repeated it until Comfit asked her to stop. “We know what you mean. What do you want to know about him?”  
“What’s he like?”  
“Quiet… right smart, though. He’s the headboy every year.”  
Yvette pitied Tom. Marcelle was sure to talk his ear off. She did not pity him too much, however, there had to be some fatal flaw that kept him from having friends. Even quiet people have friends. She used herself an example while reasoning in her head.  
Marcelle was in complete awe of this information. She looked at Comfit like she was an angel sent from God. She almost appeared speechless. Yvette grinned, but she was too early.  
“Does he like bowtruckles?”  
“Um, I don’t know. I’ve never actually talked to him. Sorry.”  
“That’s okay.-- Can you pass me the butter?”  
“Sure, mate.”  
And so Comfit passed the butter to smothered on a tart. She laughed at Marcelle, who didn’t seem to notice. She finished her meal slowly, thinking about Tom Riddle. There was no defined thought. It was just the image of him in her mind. He was smiling, of course. There was no reason for him to be frowning. Marcelle had never actually seen him smile, but she could imagine what it would look like. It didn’t really matter what his smile looked like, she reminded herself. Everyone, she assured, had a lovely smile. She looked over at the Slytherin table. There were all sorts of happy students talking to each other, some more audible than others. Marcelle was disappointed that she couldn’t actually pick out Tom Riddle. When she checked in on Yvette, she did not appear happy. Attempting to change that, she flashed a big smile. Yvette returned to her food. Marcelle followed her example.  
Lead back to her common room, she was not at her most alert. Her mind filled with all the possibilities of what Tom Riddle even sounded like. There was no reason he had to have a British accent. Maybe he was actually from America, but worked really hard to get to Hogwarts, or even better, he was actually from Canada, and saw no point in going all the way to Ilvermorny if he could get a perfectly good education anywhere else. The favorite fantasy was that he was from Toulouse. She had no real reason to like Toulouse, but it seemed appealing enough. She once knew a friend from Toulouse with the most beautiful accent. Marcelle had no issue with British accents, or British people. She remembered Newt Scamander. Despite never having heard him, she was optimistic about his voice.  
Her thoughts were interrupted when Bysshe’s Irish accent declared that it was time for bed. Marcelle nodded her way back to her room. She went to bed, yes. She never actually fell asleep. Galivora argued this untrue in the morning under glares from Yvette. “I definitely saw her asleep. She smiles in her sleep, you know. It’s hard to tell sometimes. I think her eyes were closed. Plus, she wasn’t talking. She was quiet the whole night. You know how she is. She didn’t even sleep talk.”  
That was the most convincing point she had heard all morning. Yvette held her judgment as she peered at Marcelle’s sleeping body. Her hair had managed to find the egg. No one had bothered to pull it away from the runny substance. Meles pointed out that she and Bysshe had moved away the rest of the food in case she should turn her head. Again, Yvette stayed silent. She knew that they knew that this was not to happen again. Eleanor had warned her earlier that the other students would all hear if they were to do anything too terrible. Eleanor did not want to explain. In truth, Yvette brushed it off at first. As Marcelle became more involved, she realized that any sort of humiliation would not do well for her. She always struggled to explain this to Marcelle.  
Later, in a rare moment of just Yvette alone with Marcelle, she made an effort. “Tu veux pas cet honte. Cette école, elle est pleine d'élèves qui te connaissent pas.”3  
“Mais pourquoi ça importe? S’ils me connaîtraient, ils pourraient m’aimer.”4  
“Ils vont pas vouloir te connaitre s’ils pensent que t’es qu’une niaise. Pense à ce Tom Fiddle--”5  
“Riddle”  
“Va-t-il veut parler avec une imbecile?”6  
“Je suis pas une imbécile.”7  
“Il te faut le montrer.”8  
If Marcelle was showing any anger or frustration during the conversation, it did not remain. It could not remain. She knew Yvette was right. She just didn’t know how to show her delightful personality. She thought to the last time she’d met someone new. She wanted to ask Comfit to make sure that she was delightful. Knowing Yvette would disapprove, she didn’t try. Marcelle instead attempted to think of a way to make Tom know her. She couldn’t just talk to him. She couldn’t make a fool of herself. She couldn’t embarrass Yvette and everyone else. She fell asleep thinking. It was exhausting for her. When Marcelle woke up, she had an idea.  
“Peut-être Comfit a une amie qui est amies avec Tom.”9  
“Peut-etre.”10  
The next chance she got, Marcelle inquired for someone else to talk to. Comfit sent her to two girls: Honeylet and Bitterley Wopsle. They had strawberry blonde hair, with uncommonly tan skin. Their brown eyes were unthreatening while they listened to Comfit’s introduction. The two girls were notoriously well-connected throughout the school. They were something of an encyclopedia on Hogwarts. They specialized in the fifth year students, of course, but they could easily direct the Beauxbatons to Pulvilio, who knew everyone in the fourth year class. Yvette explained that they were interested more on Tom Riddle.  
“I see. He’s ridiculously smart, you know? Pretty hard to talk to, though.” Honeylet paused. Looking around the tables,they were clearly struggling to think of the best contact. Bitterley suggested they find in his potions class. “He’s supposedly the most chatty in there.” The two girls dropped names until they agreed that Lavinia Lollard would be a good start for them. In unison, the Wopsle twins relayed the name to Marcelle.  
Before the Beauxbatons could get anywhere with this connection, they were interrupted. Rigel and Meles arrived. “Nunnos! She’s making noises!” Meles cried. Yvette had not seen Nunnos since the day Marcelle transfigured it. She had not paid attention to her Hufflepuff friends talking about the creature. There was no reason for her to worry about Nunnos. She could do absolutely nothing about it. Yvette, being an honorary Ravenclaw, could not go into the Hufflepuff common room. She had, for a time, come to like the moments when she wasn’t worried about Marcelle. As the year went by, though, she struggled more and more. Yvette waited outside the Hufflepuff common room. She could go in if she wanted, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to.  
It was quiet. Hogwarts had the luxury of quiet every once in a while. Beauxbatons was usually silent in the halls. There were rugs on the floor, which meant the girls’ heels did not clink on the polished wood. Even without them, the girls tried extensively not to be heard by their feet. Beauxbatons intentionally whispered loud enough to be heard. Here, they walked heavily. Someone walked heavily. Yvette’s ears tried to figure out where they were coming from. It had to be one person. They were slow, distinct footsteps. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of, and yet her heart pounded thunderously.  
“What are you doing here?” Rubeus shyly asked. He hadn’t seen either of them since they went to the kitchen. Had he not looked so distinct, Yvette would have forgotten him. “Nunnos is making weird noises. It’s probably nothing, but Marcelle is really attached to that bowtruckle.” “What kind of noises?” He was fully invested already-- Yvette was not prepared for that. She didn’t know anything about the noises. She had been only vaguely interested as Meles described, or rather, imitated the sound. Rubeus insisted that he wait with her-- she was not prepared for that, either. At that moment, she identified a desire for Marcelle to be with her. Yvette had never really felt such a feeling before to her knowledge. If Marcelle was there, she could talk to Rubeus. The large boy looked like he wanted to talk, but Yvette preferred not to say anything ever.  
It was quiet again. A few Hufflepuffs passed by. Many of them recognized Yvette. They rarely recognized Rubeus, but didn’t seem to mind. Some of them stopped to talk to both of them, others just greeted the odd pairing. Yvette was sure that she could not wait much longer outside. As students trickled in, she was sure she had to go. “If Marcelle comes out any time soon, tell her that I went-- well, you’ll have to go, too.”  
“I don’t really have to worry about curfew.”  
“Oh.”  
She assumed that some kids just got around the rules. No one at Beauxbatons ever got away with sneaking out. There was always someone or something watching. If teachers spied on the students, they were terribly good at keeping themselves concealed. Yvette, along with many other students, theorized there was some sort of spell in the halls that alerted a professor when a student was out. The academy never disclosed this information. In fact, they only briefly mentioned that students had a curfew at all.  
As she got up to go back to her room, Marcelle opened the door. “Mr.Kettleburn. Où se trouve Mr. Kettleburn?”11 Yvette knew it was serious. “Je reviendrai! Explique à Rubeus!”12Marcelle vaguely remembered Rubeus. She had not noticed him until he stood up. Marcelle lead him into the Hufflepuff common room. It was only occupied by her roommates and Bysshe. They looked amongst each other. None of them seemed know him, but none of them really minded. “Nunnos is sick,” Marcelle tried to explain. Rubeus dropped his head. “Kettleburn hasn’t taught me anything about this illness.” Galivora peered at him. She decided not to say anything. “I hope Yvette comes back soon,” Marcelle expressed. No one seemed to be able to make any conversation. No one seemed comfortable with the silence either. They looked at each other. Philotis opened her mouth just enough to get Rigel excited. She sighed. There was nothing to say. She closed her mouth again. Nunnos had stopped making the alarming noise. The bowtruckle breathed louder than all of the students in the Hufflepuff common room combined.  
Marcelle’s heart raced like a niffler races to silver. She wouldn’t take her eyes off of Nunnos. She was never allowed to have pets before. Her family lived in a small cottage concealed in Bretagne. Marcelle asked for dogs and cats, but they never decided she was ready for a pet. Her owl was almost a pet, but it had a job to do. Nunnos only had to be a bowtruckle. Nunnos was not being a bowtruckle as she nervously waited for Yvette to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Do you think Tom Fiddle likes bowtruckles?"  
> 2\. "Eleanor will know. She's actually from here."  
> 3\. "You don't want the shame. This school, it's full of people who don't know you."  
> 4\. "But why does that matter? If they knew me, they'd like me."  
> 5\. "They won't want to know you if they think you're just silly. Think about that Tom Fiddle--"  
> 6\. "Will he want to talk to an idiot?"  
> 7\. "I'm not an idiot."  
> 8\. "You have to show him."  
> 9\. "Maybe Comfit has a friend who is friends with Tom."  
> 10\. "Maybe."  
> 11\. "Where is Mr. Kettleburn?"  
> 12\. "I'll be back! Explain to Rubeus!"


	6. Chapitre 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beauxbatons seek advice from Lavinia Lollard, who accidentally tells the girls about a secret club.

“I think I hear someone,” Philotis remarked. Everyone listened. “I don’t hear anything…” complained Galivora. Marcelle intervened. “No I think she’s right-- there’s definitely someone coming!” She ran to the door.  
Yvette was trying to walk quickly, but she had already expended so much energy on the way to the office that she simply could not persuade herself and Professor Kettleburn to run back to the common room. He was clearly struggling to keep up with her speed walking. Her shoes clicked, echoing through the halls. Marcelle’s bright yellow hair appeared before the rest of her somehow. Her face was hopeful somehow. And somehow, she was able to relax when Professor Kettleburn arrived. She did not speak to question him. She respectfully watched from a distance. Yvette stared at her in surprise. Neither of them blinked until Kettleburn turned around to address the students. “A sort of screaming, you said?” Yvette nodded. Rigel elaborated, “It was high-pitched--even for a bowtruckle-- like a siren or alarm.”  
“That’s rather odd, but I think I’ve seen it before… What have you been feeding this little guy?”  
“I give Nunnos three crickets every morning and evening.”  
“Wow… that’s… actually pretty good for a bowtruckle. Have you been leaving Nunnos alone for most of the day?”  
“Yes.”  
“That’s not so good. Bowtruckles like to feel safe with their wizards.”  
Yvette was listening, but she had a feeling there was something Kettleburn was hiding. He was probably hiding it for Marcelle’s own sake, though. She decided not to say anything about it. Marcelle took this advice as an opportunity to carry Nunnos around whenever she had free time. Yvette was relieved that she still did not take the bowtruckle to classes. Marcelle wasted no time with Tom after Nunnos was taken care of that day. Yvette followed her as she tracked down the Wopsle twins. The two girls were caught up on the sudden emergency. Very understanding, they assured Marcelle that the bowtruckle would be up and about in no time. Yvette, bored by the small talk, asked where the girl they were going to talk to earlier might be. “Lavinia? She must be around here somewhere… Oh! There she is!--”  
“See with the short black hair--”  
“And it looks like she just got an owl!”  
“We’ll have to find out what it is. You know, I hear she’s been having issues with her parents lately…”  
“Haven’t been writing as much…”  
Yvette had heard enough. “Alright let’s go see her.”  
And so they did go see her. She was trying to contain whatever feelings she had for the twins. They must have been rather familiar-- Yvette assumed their relationship was not all chummy. Lavinia produced a large smile, but her eyes were weary. Upon polite request, the twins introduced Marcelle and Yvette. Yvette cringed a little at the pronunciation of their names, although it was mostly right. Lavinia looked at the Beauxbatons, as if that would help her understand why they had such a goal. “I would like to clarify, of course, that Marcelle wants to be his friend, I do not… I am here for support.” This did not help Lavinia. Honeylet attempted to change the subject to the subject of the owl she’d just received, but Lavinia shewed the Wopsles away.  
“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m friends with Tom. He’s not really the type to, um, make friends?” Marcelle could not quite comprehend this concept. She stared blankly at Lavinia. “Have you tried--I don’t know-- talking to him? I mean, he is right over there.” Marcelle spotted him. He was quietly eating his meal like usual. She couldn’t remember why they hadn’t just gone over to him and said hi-- “We don’t want to be too, euh, obvious,” Yvette intervened. But seeing him alone, Marcelle didn’t quite see the argument. She rose, making her way to his seat. “Je crois pas qu’il est une bonne idée…”1 Marcelle kept walking. “Oh wow. She actually took me seriously,” mumbled Lavinia. Marcelle hadn’t heard Lavinia, though her feet did stop. Still entranced, she stood a few meters away from Tom Riddle. She turned around and headed back to Yvette, quite in awe. Marcelle explained herself, “Je suis pas prête maintenant. Peut-être demain.”,2  
When tomorrow came, she still wasn’t ready. Days passed by-- she was never ready. Yvette was content with herself. She knew this was her strong persuasion at work. Marcelle did, however, ask to talk to Lavinia again. Seeing no real outcome, she allowed it. They visited her at the next meal. She seemed amused that the Beauxbatons had come back. “So, did you say hi to him?” Marcelle answered honestly, “No, I was wondering if there was another way… maybe one less noisy?” Lavinia showed suspicion only paralleled by Yvette herself. Lavinia leaned in. “Are you trying to hint at the Slug Club?”  
Not really knowing what a slug was, or how it pertained to befriending Tom, Marcelle and Yvette took a brief pause. They looked at each other, both with the same thought in their heads. Before Marcelle could finish her breath, Yvette intervened. “Yes, the Sloag Cloab. Do you know how we get it?”Lavinia brushed off her strange word choice. She leaned it, showing the Beauxbatons to do the same. Whispering, the fifth-year gave them details. “The Slug Club is top secret. Professor Slughorn invites his favorite students to meetings of sorts. I can’t tell you much more-- How did you find out about it?”  
Yvette returned, “Professor Slughorn mentioned it to us.” At this point, Marcelle was to a point of confusion when everyone around seems to speak a foreign language. Yvette tried to distract from her plainly bewildered expression. “Do you think he would invite us?”  
“If he mentioned it to you, he probably means to let you in. You know, I didn’t realize he invited exchange students. It will definitely be a change.”  
The rest of the day, Yvette considered her options. This strange Slug Club was definitely the way to let Marcelle and Tom meet, but she was not entirely sure they should meet. She was entirely sure there was something off about him, not that she should ever put it to words. The Beauxbaton lamented this decision. She was very aware of her first evening at Hogwarts, though tired, her inescapable memory kept the vision of Professor Slughorn in the room. If she needed anything, she could just ask… Neither side had much merit.  
Something made her think she should actually discuss it with Marcelle. “Slughorn a jamais parlé du Slug Club.”3  
“Eh, bien. Je croyais que j’ai oublié quelque chose d’importante.”4  
“Non. Donc, il serait très facile de retrouver Slughorn et demander si on peut joindre son club.”5  
“Pourquoi pas?”6  
“Parce qu’il… parce qu’il voudrait qu’on soit des bonnes élèves.”7  
“Ah, oui. Ça fait du sens.”8  
“Il faut qu’on reçoive des bonnes notes, aussi.”9  
“Oui, oui. Je comprend.”10  
And with that, Yvette’s plan to be honest went out the window. Over the next days, Marcelle became oddly fixated with potions. She studied them, practiced making them, and even showed some liking in them. If potions could get her into the Slug Club, she would learn them all. Yvette had only ever seen this amount of interest from in Care of Magical Creatures. There was no way to know how far she’d go to get into this mysterious club. It was doubtful she ever thought about the exact point when she would be invited. Marcelle just studied. She just trained.  
It became clear that Marcelle had no clue how to study. She frantically read the notes Yvette took for her. Eventually, her Hufflepuff friends caught on. They quizzed her, and increasingly found her more familiar with the material than they were. Galivora was the only one to have any problem with this, but she was much too frustrated to actually admit any issue.  
And so, Marcelle became very good at potions. Slughorn finally pulled Yvette aside one day to ask for the cause of her sudden interest. Yvette knew the time would come, of course. These sorts of drastic changes never go unnoticed. She had a plan for what to say to anyone who should ask her. “You saw how it was. She was struggling in her classes. I gave her a little push to work harder, and she gets really excited to learn about potions now that she knows what goes on.” This, of course, went exactly as planned. Slughorn was impressed, but nothing more than impressed.  
Somehow, Marcelle never learned that it was pointless to carry on with her strategy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "I don't think that's a good idea..."  
> 2\. "I'm not ready right now. Maybe tomorrow."  
> 3\. "Slughorn never talked about a Slug Club."  
> 4\. "Oh, alright. I thought I'd forgotten something important."  
> 5\. "No. So, it'll be really easy to find Slughorn and ask if we can join his club."  
> 6\. "Why not?"  
> 7\. "Because... because he'd like us to be good students."  
> 8\. "Oh yeah. That makes sense."  
> 9\. "We have to get good grades too."  
> 10\. "Yes, yes. I get it."


End file.
